Chapter 38 If Meat Had Ears
Chapter Thirty Eight
If Meat Had Ears
— Colt —
“Alright, now. You guys just chill until we can get the pit dug.” I grin at the three slabs of pork ribs. They stay pretty quiet as I close the cooler lid, but hey, I still crack myself up. If meat had ears, they’d be rolling their eyes.
I almost never have a reason to go into Warren’s. We make do just fine at the Piggly Wiggly, where I know the cashier by name and she pretends not to notice when I grab a second pack of gum at checkout.
Butcher shops? They’re for people with a lot more zeros in their bank account. But Tomas called this order in special, and me, being the exemplary almost-brother-in-law that I am, will keep these steaks, ribs, and wings stashed until the big night.
The party’s gonna be perfect. Sunday deserves that. Even though I’m still wrapping my head around the whole ‘eternally bonded mate group’ thing, it’s clear as day how much Tomas loves her. Hell, the man asked Dad and me for her hand like it was the 1980s or somethin’.
Dad didn’t put up much of a fight. Just gave Tomas that soul-squinting look of his—which is kind of Dad’s thing—and asked him some tough questions about what being with Sunday really means. Tomas didn’t flinch. Answered every single one, and not a word of it rang false.
Not that I expected him to lie. I’d know if he did. It’s not like I can read minds—thank God—but I can feel when someone’s trying to sell me a line of bull. It’s like a little buzz at the back of my brain, a warning light flipping on.
Tomas? He’s solid.
I like Ben too. And Xavier? Xavier scares me more than all the rest of them combined. Don’t ask me why. If I say psycho-vibe—but in a good way—would that be offensive? Well, not in my head, it ain’t.
And Grayson? Well, that’s a bit more complicated, considering I’m pretty sure I’m in love with his chyld.
I let out a low sigh and run a hand through my hair. I’ve been Vivien’s blood source for months now. She says it’s because I’m “convenient.” I try not to think too hard about that word, but it ain’t exactly flattering. I don’t mind feeding her—not at all—but sometimes I wonder if that’s all I am. Just a convenient source.
If she felt anything for me, wouldn’t she say something? Hell, I don’t even know if she likes me half the time. The other half, I’m pretty sure she hates me. But then there are these moments—quick, fleeting—where she looks at me like I’m something more. Like she actually sees me. But it’s probably just the blood talking.
I grip the cooler handle tighter and shake the thought out of my head. Tonight’s about Sunday. Not Vivien, not my feelings, not anything else. My sister deserves this, and I’ll be damned if I let my own mess distract me from making it perfect.
The bell over the shop door jingles as I step into the sticky afternoon heat, the cooler thumping against my leg. I’ve barely secured the lid in the truck bed when a voice drawls behind me.
“Well, well. Look who’s still breathin’.”
I whip around so fast I nearly trip over my own boots. “Holy shit, man. What are you doin’ topside?”
Silas leans against a shiny new Jeep like he owns the whole parking lot, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He’s big—always bigger than I remember—with dreadlocks spilling over his shoulders, tattoos crawling up his forearms, and piercings catching the sunlight. He looks exactly like the kind of guy your momma warns you about.
Lucky for him—I ain’t that bright.
“Just passing through,” he says, his voice smooth as bourbon over ice.
The buzz hits me like a slap. He’s lying.
I narrow my eyes. “Yeah, and I’m the King of England.”
His smirk widens into a grin. He shakes his head. “What gave it away?”
“Everything about you, man. You’ve got that ‘I’m up to somethin’ face.” I lean against the truck bed, arms crossed. “So, what is it? And don’t gimme that ‘just passing through’ bullshit.”
Silas chuckles, low and rough, and pushes off his Jeep. He steps closer, boots crunching against the gravel. Even though I know him—like him, even—something about him always makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“Maybe I just missed you, Colton.” He’s still grinning, but his dark eyes stay locked on mine, searching.
Another lie. A weak one, like he’s testing how far he can push before I bite.
“I ain’t your type. Try again.”
Silas huffs a tired laugh and leans over the bed of my truck, elbows resting on the edge. His gaze drifts to the tree line, the smirk slipping just enough to show the weight he’s carrying.
I pop the tailgate and sit down, legs swinging like I’ve got all the time in the world. “Usually, people say they don’t have all day, but I do.” I give him a lopsided grin. “At least ‘til sunset. I like to be there when Vivien rises.”
He doesn’t smile back. Instead, he straightens up just enough to look at me, then back at the horizon. “I need to tell you something.”
The careful way he says it makes my stomach twist. “Alright,” I say slowly. “What’s on your mind?”
“I met your sister.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Okay… Was she mean to you? Did her friend Xavier get ya? They got a way of—”
“Colt.” His voice cuts through mine, sharper now. He shakes his hair back, dreadlocks shifting over his shoulders, and locks eyes with me. “She’s my dragon’s fated mate.”
Truth.
It slams into me like a freight train. There’s not an ounce of deception in his words.
I blink, my brain struggling to process. “You’re sayin’ Sunday…” My throat goes dry, “is your dragon’s mate?”
Silas nods once, his jaw tight.
For a long moment, I just stare at him. And then, just as the truth settles, he drops the second bomb.
“And I tried to kill her.”
It’s like the ground drops out from under me. The words hang in the air. My ears buzz with rushing blood.
The warning light in the back of my brain stays dark—he’s not lying. Not about any of it.
I let out a shaky breath, dragging a hand down my face. “Jesus Christ, Silas.”
He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t try to explain. Just watches me, braced like he’s waiting for a punch that might not come.
“You tried to kill my sister,” I say again, slower this time, like hearing it out loud will make it make sense. It doesn’t. “Just what the fuck do you expect me to do with that?
Silas breaks the silence first, his voice quieter now. Careful . “So… how’s she doing?”
A sharp laugh escapes me, more nerves than humor. “Well, she ain’t dead, so that’s nice.”
The words echo back in my head, and that’s when it really hits me. He tried to kill Sunday. M y sister . The cooler behind me feels like it’s burning a hole through the truck bed. My hands twitch against my jeans, itching to grab my phone. Should I call Dad? Tomas? God, I wish Vivien was up.
But Silas doesn’t move. He just stands there, arms braced on the truck, looking more human than I’ve ever seen him.
“I made a mistake,” he says finally, his tone raw. “One I’ll be paying for a long, long time.”
The truth lands again, just as heavy, tinged with something that feels like regret.
I swallow hard, my stomach twisting. “I gotta ask… how does one mistakenly attempt murder?”
The corner of his mouth twitches, but it’s not a smile. More like he’s laughing at himself, and not in a kind way. “You’d be surprised.” His fingers flex against the truck’s edge, gripping something invisible.
“It was a job,” he says finally, his voice rough, like the words are being dragged out of him. “I didn’t realize who she was to him until she…” He pauses, eyes darkening. “Until she didn’t burn in my dragon’s fire.”
I blink. “Okay, I mean, I get it… one time I was working for City and they wanted me to—” I cut myself off, realizing even as the words leave my mouth that this is not the time for a story about municipal screw-ups. “Never mind. Forget it. Probably not gonna help you feel any better.”
Silas huffs a breath that might be a laugh, but it’s too bitter to be sure.
“So,” I say, leaning forward on the tailgate, “does she know you’re in town? And, uh, how exactly are you still alive? Can’t imagine her other mates were good with it.”
Silas shakes his head, dreadlocks brushing his shoulders. “Yeah, I don’t think I’m welcome at the mate-group potluck,” he says dryly. “I slipped away before the pitchforks came out.”
I nod slowly, fighting the grin threatening to break through. “Song as old as time…”
That earns me a real laugh—short, rough, but genuine. He scrubs a hand over his face, his expression softening just a fraction.
“I’ve been trying to get a message to her. I know she probably won’t forgive me easily, but, Colt…” He pauses, his dark eyes locking onto mine, and for the first time, I see the cracks in his mask. “My dragon is incon-fucking-solable.”
I blink, caught off guard by the rawness in his voice. Silas shakes his head, his fingers flexing against the truck bed like he’s steadying himself. “It’s not good for dragons to find their mate and lose them,” he whispers. “You can’t… It doesn’t just go away. It doesn’t get better.”
He doesn’t need to finish the thought. I can fill in the blanks just fine.
I lean back, exhaling slowly, trying to process everything he’s just dumped on me. “Okay,” I say finally, my voice quieter. “So what do you want me to do about it?”
Silas looks at me, something almost hopeful flickering in his eyes. “I just need a chance, Colt. One chance to talk to her. To explain.”
I hesitate, the weight of his request pressing down hard. No matter how much I like Silas, no matter how much truth is in his words, he’s asking me to put my sister—my family—in the same room as the guy who tried to kill her.
I’m not sure I can do that.
Silas watches me, reading the doubt on my face. He sighs, straightening up and brushing his hands over his jeans. “I know. I don’t expect you to help me.”
There’s no bitterness, just quiet resignation. He steps back, glancing at his Jeep. “Oh, I have something for you. It’s in my Jeep—let me grab it.”
I track him as he walks across the parking lot. The crackle of my gift runs hot over my skin. He’s telling the truth. Mostly. But there’s something else—a simmering layer of anger beneath it all. Not aimed at me, but there, sharp and faint like a splinter under the surface.
He reaches his Jeep, pops the tailgate, and rummages around. His movements are deliberate, shoulders tense. After a moment, he pulls out a bottle, holding it up to catch the light as he heads back over.
“Shadowfire,” he says, handing it to me like it’s a trophy. “Smuggled it in from Dae.”
I whistle low, turning the bottle over in my hands. The dark glass is etched with swirling patterns that shimmer when they catch the sunlight. I know exactly what Shadowfire is—Silas and I shared more than a few bottles of the stuff back in Dae. Burns like hell going down.
“Oh, man, this is nice. This is real nice.” My grin stretches wide as I clutch the bottle to my chest, already halfway to forgiving whatever sins Silas has racked up.
He doesn’t answer, just watches me with an expression I can’t quite pin down. But I’m a sucker for a good present. Before I can think better of it, I step forward and pull him into a quick hug.
Silas stiffens, muscles locking up like I’ve handed him a live grenade. He doesn’t hug me back, but he doesn’t shove me off either. Progress. When I step back, he’s staring at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“Why don’t you give me a number?” I say, still clutching the bottle like it’s made of gold. “I’ll talk to Sunday. She’s getting engaged tomorrow, so she’ll be in a good mood.”
Something flickers in his expression—quick as a flash—but I catch it. Jealousy. Or maybe envy. Hard to tell. My gift buzzes faintly, warning me.
“Oh. Oh, that’s great,” he says, his voice hitching just enough to sound off. “Tell her congratulations.”
The words feel sincere enough, but there’s a jagged edge to them, something bitter hiding beneath the surface. I chalk it up to Silas being Silas—complicated, broody, and probably jealous as hell.
“Will do,” I say, offering a lopsided grin. “And thanks for this.” I hold up the bottle for emphasis.
“Yeah.” His voice is distant now as he backs toward his Jeep. “Take care, Colton.”
I watch him climb in and drive off, the lingering hum of my gift crackling until he’s out of sight.
Whatever Silas is planning, whatever he’s hoping for—it’s not gonna be simple. I need to talk to Sunday. Preferably alone.